


Shooting the Puck to Score

by literaryoblivion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coach Derek Hale, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryoblivion/pseuds/literaryoblivion
Summary: Stiles works at a ice rink that just so happens to be where a very attractive man coaches a group of little girls how to play hockey. And maybe Stiles goes in early on his shifts to watch their practice because he's interested in hockey (it's not the hockey he's interested in).





	Shooting the Puck to Score

“Ugh, Scott, move, I’m going to be late!” Stiles yells, doing his best to move his friend out of his way so he could get to his shoes by the front door.

“Late?” Scott asks, face confused as he holds up his coat to put on.

“Yeah, you know, the thing that happens when you’re not on time?” Stiles shoves his feet into his shoes, not bothering to pull the tongue out from where it’s folded up. He’ll fix it later.

“I thought your shift didn’t start until three?” 

“Yeah?” Stiles voice comes out muffled as he digs through the hall closet for his coat. Geez, how did they get so much shit in here?! 

“Stiles, it’s only one, and the rink is like five minutes away?”

“So? Aha!” Stiles shouts victoriously as he plucks his coat from the pile of crap in the closet.

“So,” Scott says, pausing until Stiles has emerged from the closet. He’s glaring with his arms crossed, and Stiles does not have time for this.

“How can you be late when your shift doesn’t start for another two hours?” Scott’s tone is very accusatory and how dare he? He doesn’t know Stiles’s life!

Maybe Stiles has to run an errand before work. Maybe he likes to take his time to get ready and mentally prepare before his shift. _Maybe_ he’s trying to leave early in case there’s a catastrophic accident that may make him late!

“That Mighty Mites hockey team is practicing right now, isn’t it?” Scott says, face flat.

“I… uh… perhaps? But, that means nothing because there could be a five car pile up, Scott. You never know!”

“Right. A five car pile-up on the thirty mile per hour road between here and the ice rink.”

“Not everyone is a great law-abiding citizen who follows the rules of the road like me, Scott.” 

Scott pulls out his phone and holds it out. “Sorry, could you say that one more time so I can record it and send it to your dad? I’m sure he could use a good laugh today.”

Stiles’s lips straighten, and he narrows his eyes at Scott. “If you’ll excuse me,” Stiles says in the most menacing, dismissive tone he can muster. He abruptly spins away from Scott and marches out the front door.

Only to immediately come back inside to find Scott standing in the entryway, Stiles’s keys held up in his hand.

“Forget something?” Scott asks with a smirk.

Stiles purses his lips and swipes for the keys, yanking them out of Scott’s hand. He does a similar about-face and leaves, again, hearing Scott yell, “At least talk to him this time! More than just hi!” as he shuts the door behind himself.

As he drives to the ice rink, which is just as quick as Scott claimed without even a stalled car on the side of the road, Stiles thinks about what Scott yelled out the door.

He’s definitely said more than just hi to the incredibly hot Coach Hale. He wished him a good day once when he was leaving the rink. That’s more than “hi.”

Ugh, okay, so maybe Stiles is not sure how to move past random pleasantries to “I want to date you and have your metaphorical babies, please make out with me.” But that doesn’t stop him from staring in awe at the coach as he moves on the ice to warm up before his girls arrive for practice. Nor from listening with a fond smile as the coach encourages his team to keep going, cheers when they score, and tells them they are okay if they fall or don’t execute a move properly.

Coach Hale’s so kind and caring to the little ten-year-old girls on his hockey team that Stiles almost wishes he were one of them just to be on the receiving end of that smile and those compliments.

That’s impossible though, of course, because he’s a grown man who cannot be on a hockey team for little girls, and also because he knows nothing about hockey. Heck, he can barely even skate, let alone hold a stick and try to shoot pucks while he does it.

And yes, he knows how odd it is that someone who can barely stand and do a few laps around the ice without falling on his ass works at an ice rink. But, it’s close by his apartment and is pretty flexible with his hours, which is nice considering that Stiles is working on his master’s program, and Scott may have hooked him up with the job since he works there, too.

The fact that Coach Hale’s team practices at the ice rink is a nice little perk to his job.

When he gets into the rink, Erica, who’s working the rental desk at the moment, spots Stiles and gives him a knowing smile. 

“Little early, Stiles? Wonder why that could be…” she says as soon as Stiles is near her desk.

“Whatever do you mean, my dearest Erica?” Stiles gives her an innocent smile, and Erica rolls her eyes.

“He’s not on the ice yet, so you’re just in time. Girls don’t start practice for another half hour.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. You want some skates to conveniently be on the ice while he warms up?”

Stiles grins wide. “Yes, please.”

Erica sighs and shakes her head while she turns around to the cubbies of ice skates behind her. She reaches for a pair, without asking for a size, and hands them across the desk to Stiles.

“You’ve got twenty minutes before you need to be off the ice. Make them count this time.”

“Make them… I’m just skating for fun!” 

“Whatever, Stiles. If you don’t talk to him, I’m not giving you skates anymore. I’m tired of your heart eyes and pining.”

Stiles frowns. “Did Scott say something to you?” 

“He didn’t have to. Just talk to him. Knock him into the boards. Fall in front of him. Do something. Please. I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says, “and when are you going to ask Boyd out?”

Erica’s face goes red and she snaps her mouth shut. “That’s different,” she hisses.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Turnabout’s fair play, buddy. Laying across the zamboni to take your break isn’t working, so don’t lecture me on how to get a date.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles shouldn’t have been so harsh or brought up the zamboni incident they had agreed not to talk about. Erica’s visibly upset and betrayed look isn’t helping Stiles not feel guilty either.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles leans across to be closer to Erica, hoping she sees the sincerity in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that. Boyd’s blind if he doesn’t see how wonderful and gorgeous you are and jump at the chance to take you out.”

Erica sniffs and nods. “No, you’re right.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching to take Erica’s hand. “Want me to talk to him? Tell him he’s being an idiot?”

Erica laughs and shakes her head. “No. Thanks, though, Stiles. I’ll… get my courage some day. I just… what if he’s not interested?” 

“You’re the most courageous, badass woman I know. If he says no, he must be an alien.”

Erica laughs out loud and grins. She waves Stiles away. “Get out of here. Go talk to Coach Hottie.”

Stiles gives her a salute, grabs the skates, and moves to the benches near the rink. 

Coach Hale is already skating around the ice, checking the goal nets and posts that were set up. He’s got black hockey gloves on, stick in his hand, and a black pullover with his team’s logo on the back—a blue and gray wolf. He looks handsome and suave, of course, like he was born to be there on the ice, like he’s more at home on the ice with a hockey stick in his hand than he is anywhere else in the world.

Hale deftly moves around the rink, quiet as the boys’ team wraps up their practice, huddling and kneeling on one end to listen to their coach.

Technically, it’s not open ice right now, but since Stiles is an employee, he’s allowed to do a few laps as long as he’s not interrupting or in the way of those that have reserved the ice. It also helps that the boys’ coach, Allison, is dating Scott, so she doesn’t mind Stiles on the ice while she wraps up her practice.

Stiles steps out onto the ice and does a few tentative strides on the opposite side of the rink from Coach Hale. When the team breaks and the boys start making their way off the ice, Allison waves and smiles at Stiles. Stiles returns the greeting, and she nods her head towards Coach Hale and gives Stiles a wink. 

Ugh, all his friends are awful.

He watches as Coach Hale glides towards Allison to talk to her, and Stiles moves away to do a few laps back and forth on the ice. He’s been on the ice (creeping on Coach Hale) enough lately that he can skate without needing a stack of buckets or to stick close to the rail. He can’t do any spins and turning is still a challenge for him, but he can at least skate normally without looking like a fool in front of his crush.

It’s while he’s facing away, skating toward the opposite goal from where Coach Hale and Allison have been chatting, that he sees an errant hockey stick a few feet away. One of the boys on Allison’s team must have left it. Stiles skates to it, stooping over to pick it up. He’s nearer the goal now, and he holds the stick like he’d seen Coach Hale do, pretending he’s got a puck in front of him and shooting the imaginary puck at the goal. 

Only he does it a little too enthusiastically, especially considering there is no puck, loses his balance, and manages to fall backwards on his ass with his head, luckily, only slightly grazing the ice behind him. He’ll likely have a bump on his head, but it’s not like he’s dizzy or seeing spots or anything.

He feels like a complete idiot, and he hopes to god that Allison is still distracting Coach Hale so that they didn’t see his embarrassing display at all.

The universe hates him, apparently, because he has no such luck, and as soon as he’s sitting up and slowly kneeling to get up to his feet, a pair of large, strong hands are under his arms and helping him steady himself on his skates. 

“Are you okay? Does your head hurt?” a male voice asks, and Stiles almost doesn’t want to turn around to look because he knows whose voice that is. It’s Coach Hale. Because of course it is. 

“Uh, I, um…” he starts, only to have Coach Hale let go of his arms to skate around to face him.

“If you’re having trouble speaking, you need to go to the doctor,” Coach Hale says, staring into Stiles’s eyes and scanning his face like he can make a diagnosis just by looking at him.

Stiles refuses to roll his eyes, but it’s a close call. The reason he’s having trouble forming words is _not_ because he has a concussion; it’s because the man he’s been infatuated with is standing right in front of him, talking to him, and touching his arms and shoulders. You try talking in complete sentences when dealing with that! 

He swallows and looks back at Coach Hale. “I’m fine. I promise. I might have a slight bump, but I promise I don’t need medical attention.” Stiles gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Coach Hale looks as if he wants to protest, but he nods. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Stiles looks over and sees some of Coach Hale’s team skating out on the ice. A few of the girls are staring at them, unsure of their welcome. “I, uh, better get off so you guys can practice. Sorry for interrupting with my clumsiness.”

He moves away, taking the stick he had picked up earlier, and skates towards the opening at the side of the rink, hoping that his face isn’t as red as it feels. With his luck, it probably is though, but he just needs to get away, from the rink, Coach Hale, this whole situation. He’s definitely never skating on this ice anywhere near Coach Hale ever again, that’s for sure.

Just as he’s about to step down on to the rubber mats surrounding the outside of the rink, he’s stopped with a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Coach Hale smiling at him. 

“Uh, that’s mine,” Coach Hale says, gesturing with his hand at the stick Stiles is holding. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Stiles says, thrusting the stick out to Coach Hale, positive that he looks like a tomato.

Coach Hale continues to smile and accepts the stick, and as soon as it’s out of his hand, Stiles runs—not literally, he is in skates after all—away, almost tripping as he leaves the rink, but luckily doesn’t.

“Oh, and Stiles?” Coach Hale calls, causing Stiles to look back over his shoulder. “Plant your feet shoulder-width apart next time. You’ll balance better while you shoot.”

Stiles nods and turns back towards the rental desk, takes a few steps and then stops in his tracks. Did Coach Hale just… did he call him Stiles? He knows who he is??? 

He spins around to face the rink, but Coach Hale isn’t there, already gathering up the girls on his team and talking to them, gesturing for them to do a few warm-up relays.

There’s no way to talk to Coach Hale now, so Stiles sits on one of the benches to take off his skates. He’s reeling as he unties them and slips them off. Coach Hale knows his name. He knows who he is. Maybe Allison told him when Stiles fell, although, Stiles doesn’t recall seeing Allison on the ice when Hale had helped him up. It’s not like Stiles is wearing a name tag, nor does he ever, in fact, because he lost it months ago and hasn’t bothered asking for another.

How does Hale know who he is? Has he asked other people about him? Did Erica say something maybe? Hell, Stiles doesn’t even know what Coach Hale’s first name is because he only ever hears him called “Coach Hale,” and yet he knows Stiles’s name? It makes Stiles embarrassed that he hasn’t asked him, or at the least asked Allison what Hale’s first name is. She probably knows, too, but she’s not the type to just offer up information without being asked.

He tries not to think about how stupid he’s been, how Erica got her wish and they did have a conversation, except it was a total disaster and Stiles was an idiot. He looks for his shoes that he stashed under the bench and puts them on, wondering what he should do now.

Normally, he sits on the bench and watches Coach Hale and his team practice for the hour they have the ice. By the time their practice is over, he has about twenty minutes until his shift starts, so he goes and chats with whoever is at the desk or plays a game on his phone in the breakroom before he can clock in.

But there’s no way he’s sitting here watching practice now, not after the whole debacle and how he flushes red every time he thinks about what happened or looks at Hale and realizes he knows exactly who he is. He doesn’t want to go to the desk, though, because Erica will want to know what happened, why he’s not watching practice, and she’ll get the information out of him somehow; she always does. 

So, he does what anyone would logically do. 

He hides in the breakroom.

No one is ever in there, and if they are, they’re usually only there for five or ten minutes at a time to heat up food and then leave. It’s sparse, barely enough room for a small table and three chairs in the center, a fridge, and a microwave. He sits in one of the chairs, pulls out his phone, and entertains himself with a rousing game of Candy Crush. 

By the time Stiles emerges from his Candy Crush fugue state, he realizes that he has about 2 minutes before he needs to clock in and relieve Erica. He rushes to his locker to put on his uniform shirt and flings the skates he borrowed from Erica over his shoulder before sprinting to the time clock and then to the desk.

Luckily for him, Erica is too distracted by Boyd walking through the doors and giving her a shy smile and a wave to question Stiles about his interaction with Coach Hottie. Instead she acts as if Stiles isn’t even there as he comes around the desk next to her while she stares after Boyd, who disappears where Stiles had just come.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Go clock out and talk to him,” he says, nudging Erica in the side with his elbow.

She whips her head around and stares at him with surprise like she’s just now realized she wasn’t alone. “Oh, you’re here. I’ll just uh…” She looks behind herself nervously like she wants to do what Stiles suggested but can’t quite get up the nerve.

“Hurry up, before he disappears in the bowels to get the zamboni,” Stiles presses, lightly shoving Erica toward the employees only door. 

“Right… okay. Yeah. Yes,” Erica stammers out and squares her shoulders and holds her head up like she’s about to go into battle.

“You got this!” Stiles calls out as he watches Erica walk, then jog, then run for the time clock. She doesn’t seem to react to him, but Stiles knows she heard him. He hopes Boyd does his usual tactic, which is to take his time getting ready and clocking in so he’s there at the same time as Erica. Those two are hopelessly adorable, and Stiles just hopes that this time they’ll get together. 

He sanitizes and puts away the skates he borrowed, then starts straightening out the things Erica had left behind in her haste to catch Boyd. A few minutes later a whole beginner’s figure skating class comes in, followed by several other families. With the steady stream of people, Stiles is able to keep himself fairly busy loaning skates, registering people for classes, and helping with directions.

He takes a look at the schedule to see who’s reserved the ice after the open skate time, and he sighs. There’s some beer league hockey game tonight, and Stiles is working the closing shift, which sucks because it means he has to wait until the game is over before he can lock up and shut everything down. Luckily, Boyd is closing with him, and while he’s a fairly quiet dude, he is incredibly efficient, so he’ll want to be out as soon as he can, just like Stiles.

When the crowds have cleared after open skate and Stiles no longer needs to be at the rental desk, he moves over to the ice and swings open the doors for Boyd to drive the zamboni through. Boyd is already there waiting, and as soon as the doors are open, he drives the machine out onto the ice and slowly starts making his rounds, laying down a thin layer of water to create shiny new ice. 

Boyd had already pulled out the two goals for the game, so when Boyd is on the other end of the ice, Stiles starts to drag them out onto the ice. He and Boyd have done this so many times at this point that they have their routine down. Stiles knows exactly when he can start securing one of the goals when Boyd’s reached a certain part of the ice. Together they get the ice ready for the hockey game, and when everything is secure and the ice is fresh, Stiles closes the doors after the zamboni. 

Usually, at this point, Stiles and Boyd do the normal cleanup around the rink while the hockey game is played so they can go home as soon as the game is over. Sometimes they order food for delivery, and Stiles is definitely in the mood for something that is not a candy bar from the vending machine, or gross nachos pilfered from the concession stand that closed after open skate.

He goes to find Boyd, who is likely doing his checks and security where they store the zamboni, to ask what he wants. He spots him emerging from the storage room, locking the doors behind him.

“Hey! Boyd, so… I’m thinking pizza tonight. What do you want on yours?”

Boyd turns, and his face is kind of sheepish. “Uh… so, I think I might have to pass?” he replies. 

Stiles clutches his chest in mock hurt. “What? Do you want sandwiches or something?” 

“Uh, no. I… uh…” Boyd rubs the back of his neck, and he’s got a half smile on his face that is just confusing the hell out of Stiles.

“Dude, what?”

“I’m, um, actually meeting Erica for dinner later? So, um I don’t want to get pizza or anything right now.”

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide, mouth open in shock. And then he grins and cheers, “YEAH! Dude, that’s awesome!!”

Slowly, Boyd’s lips curl up in a big smile. “Yeah, I’m, uh, pretty excited.”

“I bet! Where you going?”

Boyd shrugs. “Erica said she’d text me a place to meet, which uh…” Boyd gives him an apologetic look. “She said you’d be okay with it, but she wants me to skip out early because she doesn’t want to eat dinner at ten o’clock at night.” Stiles nods because he can see Erica saying that. “Is that… that cool? I’ll get everything done that I normally do, like the bathrooms and locker room and stuff. But, you’ll have to lock up and everything by yourself? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, man, totally!” Stiles says, genuinely. He’s so happy and excited for Erica and Boyd, and he can only hope that maybe he’ll end up as lucky. He’s proud of Erica for finally asking Boyd out (because he’s positive that’s what happened), and he doesn’t want to be the dick of a friend getting in the way of a budding romance.

“Just let me know what you don’t end up getting to before you leave,” Stiles continues. “I can handle everything else.”

“I’ll let Isaac know he’ll have to run the boni in the morning since I won’t be here to do it after the game,” Boyd adds. Stiles nods.

“Sounds good. I’ll go order a personal pizza for myself then.”

“So a normal size?” Boyd asks with a smirk.

Stiles rolls his eyes and leaves without further comment.

~

After ordering, receiving, and devouring his pizza, Stiles gets started on all the things he’s supposed to do to close up. He starts with the concessions stands, seeing that the fridges, heaters, and cupboards are working, stocked, and stored or turned off properly. He marks what items are running low on his phone to order later. 

As much as it’s boring, monotonous work, he enjoys the ability to just zone out and do something that doesn’t require that much of his brain. Grad school is hard work and takes a lot of his brain power, so he appreciates this job as a mental break. He moves about his work methodically, moving from the concessions to the ice skate rental desk to check skates, then eventually to the bathrooms to clean.

When he emerges from the bathrooms, Boyd is outside waiting for him. 

“That time already?” Stiles ask, pushing the mop bucket in front of him. 

“Yeah, it’s almost nine.” Boyd hands Stiles the ring of keys to the storage. “I took care of everything in storage except for the goals, and I did the locker rooms, although you might have to do another walk through after the game clears out.”

Stiles nods as he pockets the keys. He starts pushing the bucket towards the custodial closet, and Boyd follows beside him. “Sounds good. What inning are they in anyway?” Stiles asks nodding behind Boyd to the ice rink filled with hockey players. 

Boyd gives him a flat face. “They’re periods, Stiles.” Stiles shrugs like he doesn’t care what they’re called. “And they just started the third. They probably have another forty minutes or so, depending how much they stop.”

“Let’s hope they don’t so I can get out early.” Stiles gives Boyd a huge grin, and Boyd shakes his head and disappears to the time clock, leaving Stiles in front of the closet.

By the time the mop and bucket are put away and Stiles is back at the computer behind the rental desk, Boyd is bundled up and ready to go. 

“I’d say you better treat her right, but I feel like that lecture should’ve been given to Erica,” Stiles says, leaning on the desk. Boyd chuckles in response and then lets out a breath, like he’s nervous. “You’ll be fine. You know she already likes you. Just be your charming self.” 

“Thanks, Stiles. And thanks for locking up, too. I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck!” Stiles calls out and watches Boyd wave and exit out the doors. Stiles stands a moment and looks around him, trying to decide how to pass the time he has left.

With nothing else to do and the game still going on, he grabs the box of skates he had set aside that could use some sharpening and takes them down to the equipment room. Maybe by the time he’s through, the game will be over and everyone will have gone home, meaning Stiles can too. It’s unlikely, but a guy can dream.

~ 

When Stiles emerges from the equipment room, newly sharpened skates in hand, he notices the rink is notably quieter. As he moves to return the skates, he sees a few guys near the locker room and one still on the ice, but it seems as if most everyone has left. He’s sure these guys will be leaving soon too, so he continues his work. Putting the skates back and making note of what equipment seemed damaged or needed replacing when he was down there. Knowing Finstock, he won’t replace anything unless it’s irreparably damaged or someone gets hurt because of it, but it doesn’t stop Stiles from trying.

It’s when he’s finishing his notes and shutting down the computer that he hears a few people leaving. There still appears to be one dude on the ice, but Stiles figures he can start doing his once-over of the locker room. Maybe the guy will be gone by then so he can put the goals away and go home. 

Apparently that’s wishful thinking on Stiles’s part because the guy is _still_ skating around the ice when Stiles is through cleaning the locker room and turning the lights in there off.

“Seriously, dude?” Stiles mutters to himself. He glances at his watch, and it’s definitely past the time they usually clear everyone out and lock up. This guy might want to get some extra practice time in, but Stiles wants to go home. This guy can reserve some ice time tomorrow if he’s so desperate for some. 

Carefully, Stiles walks out onto the ice to calmly tell the guy to buzz off (because as much as Stiles wants to yell at him, the dude is still a customer and Stiles is still at work). 

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to lock up, so you’ll have to come back tomorrow if you want to practice,” Stiles says as he gets closer to the player. Then he regrets getting closer because he totally knows exactly who is still on the ice.

“Stiles! Hey, I was hoping I’d see you to talk to you,” Coach Hale says, lips turned up in a smile as he skates closer to Stiles, taking off his helmet. With all his gear on, he looks so much bigger and looming, and hot, and Stiles could die because of course Hale plays for an amateur hockey team.

“Uh, oh?” Stiles says when he realizes what Hale said. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, I… I didn’t see you after the girls’ practice earlier. I was sad I missed you.”

Stiles can’t help but stare blankly at him because what?! “How do you even know who I am?!” Stiles blurts out, like an idiot.

Hale blushes (oh god he’s blushing and it’s so adorable), and he gives Stiles a sheepish smile. “I, uh… I asked Allison what your name was a month or so ago? I always saw you on the ice and watching practice, and I… uh.. I thought you were cute.” Hale’s face gets even redder, and Stiles can’t handle this because Hale thinks he’s cute? He asked Allison about him a _month_ ago! (Which, what the hell, Allison?!)

“Seriously? _You_ think I’m cute?” Stiles is completely amazed because what is even happening right now.

Coach Hale looks at him like Stiles is dumb. “Yeah. You have to know that? You’re really… uh attractive.” That blush starts appearing again, and Stiles kind of loves it. “I was thinking, uh, maybe I could teach you some hockey if you’re interested?”

“What?” 

“I could try to show you how to play hockey? Sometimes it’s easier to pick it up if you’re actually playing than if you’re just watching.” Hale seems to notice the completely dumbfounded look Stiles is obviously giving him right now. “That’s… isn’t that why you always watch practice? You’re trying to learn hockey?”

“Oh, uh, yeah… I mean…” Stiles starts because he doesn’t mind learning hockey especially from Hale but that was never his main reason for watching Coach Hale’s practices. He doesn’t want to, but Stiles should really tell him that the main reason is that he was ogling Hale, not trying to learn hockey.

“I would love for you to teach me,” Stiles says, “but I have to be honest… I don’t watch your practice for the hockey element.” 

Hale looks at him confused, and now it’s Stiles’ turn to blush. “I, uh, mainly watch for you? Because I think you’re really cute, too. So, um, yeah, that’s why I’ve been around at practices.” Then he quickly adds, “But, I’ve definitely become interested in hockey now, since, you know I’ve watched so many.” 

At that, Hale smiles. “Do you want a quick lesson right now?” he asks, holding his stick out.

Stiles should really say no because he needs to lock up and go home, but… isn’t this one of the perks of being employed here and having the keys? 

“Yeah, let me get some skates,” Stiles says, turning and walking back off the ice to the rental desk.

When he returns, skates strapped on, Hale has a second stick in his hands and three pucks lined up in front of one of the goals. Stiles skates to him, and Hale gives him the extra stick.

“I thought we’d get you to actually shoot the puck since you tried to earlier.” He gestures for Stiles to stand in front of the pucks, and when Stiles is in position, Hale gently maneuvers him so he’s standing how he should.

“Okay,” Hale says, “plant your feet, a little wider, yeah, that’s good. Okay. So, if you don’t get it in the net, that’s okay, we’re just going to focus on shooting. Whenever you’re ready, bring your stick back and then snap it forward. Almost like a golf swing, though not as high as they go. Then just follow through, don’t stop once you hit the puck.” He skates back to show Stiles what he means, no puck in front of him, and then nods for Stiles to follow.

Stiles copies the motion and totally misses the puck completely. “It’s okay, try again,” Hale encourages. “Don’t look at the puck; look in front of you, where you want it go instead.”

With a nod, Stiles tries again. This time he does hit the puck, but it only skitters a few feet in front of him, no where close to the net.

“That was good! Now this time, try to put more force behind it.”

Stiles lets out a breath and skates so he’s now positioned in front of the second puck. He makes sure his feet are planted, pulls back, and swings. His stick connects with the puck and it shoots forward, hitting the goal post and bouncing off it and landing near the side. 

“Yeah! That was great!” Hale skates towards him, smile huge on his face. “Okay, last one.” He moves the last puck so it’s directly in front of the goal net and waves Stiles over. “On this one, try to hit the puck with the center of your stick blade.” He pats the center of his own blade to show him.

Taking a moment to center himself and let Hale step back so he’s not in the way, Stiles takes a swing and thinks about everything he’s been instructed. And when he watches the puck land squarely in the back of the net, he drops his stick, throws his hands up in the air, and yells. He’s so excited that he almost topples over, but Hale is there to steady him.

“Great job, Stiles,” Hale says, grinning at him.

“Thanks, Coach Hale,” Stiles replies, smiling just as wide back at him.

“It’s Derek. Call me Derek.”

Stiles’s smile softens slightly and quietly, he says, “Thanks, Derek.”

“Come on, I’ll help you clean up,” Derek says, already skating to pick up the errant pucks.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s my fault you’re here so late and weren’t able to lock up. It’ll be faster.”

Shaking his head fondly, Stiles relents. “Okay, will you grab that goal and walk it to that exit, please? I’ll get the other one,” Stiles says, pointing to where he wants Derek to take the goal.

Together they carry the goals back to the equipment room, and after Derek’s changed out of his gear, he follows Stiles around as he turns off lights and shuts things down. They chat and ask each other questions about hockey, Stiles’s school, their likes and interests. The conversation flows easily between them the whole time. When everything is off, Derek waits for Stiles to lock the doors before walking with him to Stiles’s car.

“Thanks for helping me lock up and for showing me how to shoot,” Stiles says, taking his car keys out of his pocket.

“Anytime,” Derek replies, smiling. “Uh, maybe I can show you some other things the next night shift you’re on? Or maybe after the girls’ practice?”

“I’d like that.”

“And, uh… maybe we could go out? To dinner?” 

Stiles grins at him and nods. “I’d like that, too. I’m free tomorrow night?”

“Yeah?” Derek says with visible eagerness. “Seven sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect. Here,” Stiles says, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to Derek. “Give me your number.” Derek inputs his number and gives it back, and Stiles immediately texts the number so Derek has his. “Text me where and I’ll be there.”

Derek pulls his phone out and smiles down at it, presumably at Stiles’s text. “It’s a date,” Derek says, pocketing his phone and looking back at Stiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“Tomorrow.” They both stare at each other with goofy grins.

Finally, Derek breaks the staring and leans down to give Stiles a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Stiles,” he says when he pulls back.

Stiles blinks and nods. “Goodnight, Derek.” Then because he’s feeling brave, he darts forward and pecks Derek on the lips. “See you tomorrow.” He quickly gets in his car, and starts it before looking out the window to see Derek wide-eyed and a little dazed. When the car starts, Derek steps back and waves Stiles off before turning to get into his own car. 

On the drive home, Stiles thinks about his day and more importantly the night, imagining the kind of night he might have tomorrow with Derek. Turns out Erica wasn’t the only one brave enough to talk to and ask their crush out tonight, and he can’t wait to cash in on the favor that Boyd owes him now...

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [my tumblr](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com%22) or [my twitter](http://twitter.com/lit_oblivion).


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